Another Two headed Moron: Twenty-Two Sleek's Slash What These Nigga's Need to Know Is...

This One's for Sleek (dot, dot, dot) yeah, you heard me (full stop) The sole purpose of this here post is to prove to Sleek that I, Bujulaati Rhymes, the fasted bra popper this side of the Sahara has not gone soft. Or put more aptly, has not “Gone Sleek”. And yes, haters (that means you Sleek) this is the part where you can start hating. (paragraph) Don t be fooled, I'm as hood as ever Sleek. SO hood in fact that you better start resting with one eye up. Why? Cos' Sleek, us hustler's don't sleep, Nigga. And yeah, I know what Lil' Sleek must be thinking, that “This nigga right here has no idea who he's messin' with. This is Lil' Sleek we're talking about.” and that, “Who does this nigga think he's foolin'? Nigga's lost his swag, and once you've lost that, there aint no getting it back.”

Well Ive got news for you Sleek, this post right here is a lil' something I like to call “The Return”. And Sleek, my nigg, this is gonna be one hell of a come back. And not the “Kingdom Come” or “Before I Self Destruct” kind of comeback either but the monster smash, multi-platinum, my name is friggin' James Cameron type of come back.

And it all begins with this here post. And Sleek, before you start looking for a loophole, don't be fooled. The boom may not come with this post or the one here after but just know Sleek, that it will come.(paragraph) half way through my Twenty-Two Sleek's Campaign (okay, now its half way through +1) and the name Sleek, (Okay there goes one more) is starting to wear off its welcome on this one golden boy's tongue. But seeing as I still have 9 Sleeks to go (okay, now they're 8) I might as well get it over with. But FIRST (dot, dot, dot)

Bujulaati Rhymes Presents: Kill Or be Killed. A Tuesday Massacre

Time: Shortly Before Two A.M.

The Place: The Victorian; a small out of the way bar on the west side of town; the best side of town to get killed in.

There are few revelers. The rain has kept most of them at bay, locked up in their small story book houses, seated in front of their small story book fireplaces, sipping on small mugs of story book hot chocolate. It is only the brave...and the intensely desperate who have ventured from their homes, into the rain and into the night to Sleek out, oh I'm sorry, I meant to say SEEK out, the camaraderie of fellow man, especially fellow slightly drunk man and the warmth of The Drink. And for some, not many but some...the promise of blood. Our hero; let's call him B. Rhymes, is seated alone in a singular dim corner of the bar sipping on the house's tapped special, his custom .45 deftly tucked into his jeans snug in the small of his back, waiting for the appointed time. 

After a leisurely sip, B. Rhymes pulls out his uniquely crested golden pocket watch, only but one of his various curiosities and checks the time. 

His breath is slow in coming. Another sip. This one a whole lot less leisurely than the one before; there is now very little left of it.

He finishes the beer. Sets down the mug. Inhale, exhale, a rub of the chin...

Ding! The bell above the entrance goes as the door is pushed open and four pairs of black Tims and black hoodies saunter into the bar. It's Lil Sleek. The nigga who thought he ran that part of town. The nigga the entire town was afraid of. 

The bar is suddenly silent. Deathly quiet. They all knew what he was there for. He had come for blood. Blood and more blood; gallons of the stuff. 

Everyone knew that you didn't cross Lil Sleek. Because if you did cross him...it would mean a dozen red roses for your family and a head stone that read something like “Brother, Son and Beloved Husband”

Following a silent order from his boss, Sleek's right hand man “Wild” walks up to where B. Rhymes is seated, not cowering but quietly calm...oddly collected, and towering above him, (Wild is at least 6 foot 4) jerks a thumb towards the door. 

“Time to go.” he rumbles.

B. Rhymes reaches for his beer mug for one last sip but then remembering that he's already finished his beer, pulls back his hand, discreetly touches his custom four-five, ready to blow one's hive because one doesn't have to go to church to get to know one's God and stands up.

He can feel the heat of Sleek's gaze as he walks up to the rest of the posse under the irate glare of the giant that is Wild.

Our Hero (approaching the man who is intent on killing him): 

Sleek...

Our Nemesis (Smiling, sadistic and full malice): 

Rhymes...how nice to see you.

Our Hero: 

yeah, havnt seen you since-

Our Nemesis (Cutting him off, his voice high pitched with an odd Arabic inflection to it): 

Silence...! I'll Kill you!

Our Hero (his tone slightly mocking):

well someones been watching too much of Achmed The Dead Terrorist. Remember that part when he started talking about how the Washington Monument looks more like a tribute to Bill Clinton than it does to-

Our Nemesis ( Completely flustered): 

Do you WANT to die infidel?!? do you want to??? Cos' Nigga you is pushing me!

Our Hero: 

I mean I just figured, you're planning on killing me anyway, what difference would it make, huh? I mean, its not like if I act all nice and crap you're juss gonna let me go...is it?

Our Nemesis, staring disbelievingly at this nigga not quite sure what to say next. Instead he snaps his fingers, points at Wild then points at Rhymes. Reacting instantly, Wild grabs Rhymes and pushes him towards the door.

Our Nemesis: 

Enough chit chat Nigga. You better start praying to whatever God you believe in to deliver your black ass. 

(To Wild)

Wild. Outside. Now.

Ever the henchman, Wild does what he is told. Pushing Our Hero out of the front door and into the night. They are promptly followed by the rest of the posse who put up their hoods and pull out their biscuits. (And by biscuits I mean their guns...and don't look at me like that, it's apparently a west side thing)
After issuing the bar's occupants with a stern warning, namely that if anyone said anything, and he WOULD know, there would be hell to pay, Sleek pulled out his own tech and followed his boys onto the street...

This is supposed to be one of those “To Be Continued” things but before I do that; Sleek...and...Sleek. There. Those are Twenty-Two Sleek's. Now, with that out of the way;

To Be Continued....

The Post With Two Names: What do They Know Anyway? Vs The Birth of Bujulaati Rhymes

Today was a good day. They say that if you pay enough attention, you can learn something new about yourself everyday. Well guess what Luigi (FYI I have no idea who Luigi is, its just the first name that came to mind), I was paying attention. And this is what I learned...
but before I come to that, theres this tingling Ive been getting on my left hip every so often, especially when I'm sitted where I am (left side of the sofa next to the arm rest), at around this time(two or there abouts), doing my writing and its starting to make me wonder. Its probably nothing and I'm not at all worried, I assure you. I'm just a little...curious. What on earth could it be?
Any who, what was I saying? Oh yeah; what I learned about myself today. *anticipated clasping of the hands*
but wait...no, I guess that doesn't really count. I knew that already. Hmmmm....no matter. I need but a second and I'll have another one...
*thoughtful tugging of the beard followed by a slight sigh and a brief visit to the lil boys wee wee room*
but then who are “they” anyway? and do “they” really know anything?
“They say that if you pay enough attention, you can learn something new about yourself everyday...” Shah! What a load of gobbledygook! Oh my gosh, I cant believe I just used the word “gobbledygook”. I didn't even know I knew that word...
Now how about that? There you go...my one thing for the day. So maybe “they” know something after all.
And before you say anything, yes I know I'm talking about nothing in particular. But I'm doing it well, aren't I?
I'm not? Okay, so maybe I'm not. what I'm really doing is just trying to skirt a certain issue here. For your sake as well as my own. Believe me, you don't want to hear none of that.
Well, the tingling's gone. And in spite of all my arguing, for some reason beyond my unmeasurable measure of understanding Mckeith, I'm listening to Coldplay. “warning sign”. From “A Rush of Blood to the Head”. But don't start telling me to eat my words just yet Mckeith, its only one friggin song and believe me, then thats it.
Oh yeah, did I mentioned that I was christened with a stage name today? Yeah, when I was at the studio chillin' with 45, Clef and Tuts. I was christened with the gangstalicious name “Bujulaati Rhymes”. No, I'm not going to repeat that. And stop looking at me like that, damned if I know where it came from.
At first, I thought it was kinda corny. But after those niggas hyped it up a lil, I kinda got to liking it. Bujulaati Rhymes. Hmmmm...
and now for the thing that I was avoiding to say...
She's gone.
I spent about an hour with her before I headed for the studio and even then I was still as conflicted as I was yesterday. I wanted her to stay but I wanted her to go. I missed her already even though she was still there but I didn't want to. I wanted to kiss her but kept my lips to myself, my hands to myself, in fact I didn't touch her at all except for a brief hug when I was saying goodbye.
“So I'll see you oba when?” I said as a way of saying goodbye, my lips close to her ear.
“Shah!” she retorted, pulling away, she was smiling. “Soon...”
Much too soon but not soon enough, I reckon.
*Sigh*
I told myself I wouldn't count the days but for lack of what better to do; thus begins day one...

Digression is Like Making Fists With My Toes; A F**king Life Saver

The words I could not say

The words I should not to say

The words I need to say...

she's leaving on an airplane tomorrow. Although for many of you who will read this, tomorrow is already today.
I have to be honest, secretly, I don't want her to go. I've just gotten her back into my life. But even though, a part of me still wants her to go. To get as far from me as friggin possible. It'll make things easier. It will make things harder. It will open up a portal to worlds better left unexplored. That I would rather not explore. To worlds that I must explore.
“Let her go.” a friend of mine told me today. “See where things lie once she gets back.” not bad advice considering she'll only be gone for a month and some days.
What?!? Only?!? I can hear you say. Yes, only. Five weeks. Well, at least it would have been if she had left when she was supposed to. That being Sunday. But seeing as she's now leaving on Wednesday evening, its now five weeks minus three days. Like I said, a month and some days.
Gosh, listen to me, pining over her like some love sick puppy. Its a little embarrassing. After all this time, after everything that has happened, I still want her back. But then I guess we both know that. Have both known that. Not that its really that stretch of the imagination. Why else would I suddenly want to be a part of her life again. And her in mine? Guesses anyone? Apart from the obvious. Yup, thats what I thought. You cant think of a single thing, can you? That's okay. Its not your fault. Neither can I...

God, these mosquitoes are annoying. Who knew living so close to the lake would be such a friggin nuisance?
I watched Die Hard again last night. It must have been for like the umpteenth time. Remember the opening scene when the passenger sitting next to Bruce Willis on the plane told him that the best way to unwind after a flight was to take off your shoes, take off your socks, place your feet flat on the carpet and proceed to make fists with your toes? Well guess what I'm doing...
while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, drinking a glass of milk and typing with one hand...and I ask myself why I'm putting on weight. I must be close to ninety now. Dude, I need to lose some weight. These love handles I'm flossing just aint doing it for me. Methodology? Lemme see. Jogging? No. Biking? Nadda. Swimming? Hmmmm. I could try eating less. Gimme two weeks on a crash diet and I'll be back down to seventy-five easy. Then, it would be time to hit the gym and work my way up make to eighty-five. Gosh that sounds like too much work. You know what? How about I just lie and say i'm comfortable with the way I am now?
Nice digression, dont you think? From the topic that shall not be named for fear of reintroduction into this current post. Above not mentioned topic will have many posts dedicated to it in the following weeks, believe me.
Its getting to be that time. Time check: 1:33 am and my lil digression is beginning to wear off. One small thing and i'm thrown off kilter. Damn facebook. Damn it to hell. At least until the first grey streaks of morning and sanity returns. Listen to me biting myself. I really do need to call it a night. So until the first grey streaks of morning and sanity returns...
Holla.

Public Service Announcement

Announcer: This is a public service announcement brought to you, in

part, by Tim Brady.

Our Protagonist (that would be me): (whispered): Tell 'em I don't give a fuck

Announcer: Tim Brady does not give a FUCK...what you think!

Our Protagonist: Tell 'em to suck it

Announcer: If you don't like it, you can suck his fucking cock!

O.P: Tell 'em they kissed my ass

Announcer: Little did you know, upon reading this post, you have just

kissed his ass!

O.P: Tell 'em I'm fed up

Announcer: Tim Brady is fed up with your shit...and he's going to kill you!

O.P: Yeah

Announcer: Uh...anything else?

O.P: Yeah...SUE ME. 

Okay, so Ive so wanted to do that for like the longest time. And dont worry, i'm not gonna kill you. Not unless you get too close during one of my rage black outs. I'm not saying its happened before...its just that you can never be too careful...can you?
Inhale, exhale. Think blog post...
*sigh*
Better...
So it was wednesday when I had one of these

shoved in my face. Ive never been one to turn down a free beer (hello! Its a free beer!) but this new variety of lager kind of made me pause. Leave alone that it was served warm (and yes, because this is Uganda, room temperature often qualifies as warm so please no trying to sugar coat it by saying that its scientifically proven that drinks served at room temp. are actually more healthy for you cuz I aint buying it missy), it just didnt taste right.

Oh yeah, setting. I always seem to forget that. This was at Mateo's. You know, bar slash restaurant slash bathroom quickie center...for those of you who are curious...NO, i'm not going to elaborate. All you need to know that its starting to become a trend and i'm beginning to get a little worried.
Dusk.
Okay so it was more like twilight but I like the way that dusk sounds. It makes it sound all “i'm about to embark on the best campfire story ever” and shit. You know how they go:
(Crackling fire, flashlight in hand held beneath your chin, its beam distorting your face casting the hollows of your cheeks and your eyes in shadow) “Our story begins at dusk. On the eve of the summer solstice...” And Ex-Girlfriend-Who-It-Always-Seems-To-Be-Complicated-One-Way-Or-Another-With (lets call her...New-New because that was the name of Lauren London's character in ATL and I am on such a Lauren London bend right now that it should be illegal) was ushering this lil shin dig that was supposed to be promoting this new beverage that I (Pah-toowee!) personally found insufferable. 

It was my first time seeing her in about two months. Her first time seeing me with my hair short, the added pounds and the whole “nigga I'm grown” shirt and tie get up I was on...minus the tie.
She looked good. More than that, she looked gorgeous. Not that I told her so. Do you think that maybe I should have? Like really? Do you think Our Protagonist may have made a boo-boo? No matter. I'll make up for it. In a VERY big way. You best believe that.
Coincidence that I was there? Nah. She invited me. So what if she was working. It was a chance to see her again. Especially since she was leaving for...uh, for Finland in a few days. (The power is in the details love...yeah, you know i'm talking to you)
and work she did. Only stopping by my table every so often to check on me after my so called “friends” high tailed it, leaving me all alone. Lucky for me she didn't have to work long. After her and her girlfriends had finished eating a free pizza from Mr. I Hope This Will Get Me Somewhere (and no, that wasn't me, Ive got way too much swag for that) it was time to go home. We lived in the same direction now and so naturally we walked down to Cooper Complex together to get our respective taxis.
Long story short, (cuz bruh, I really need to get some sleep) that gnawing in my stomach, the one that kept on telling me that I missed her more than what was probably healthy...kept on gnawing. If anything, it got worse. I had gotten a little nibble, now I wanted to have the whole friggin' sandwich. Yeah, bad metaphor, I know. But you know what? I'm tired. And you know what else? Maybe I should stop writing these so called “Midnight Sessions”. Even though it's closer to early morning. 4:02 am to be exact. What do you think?
Anyway, Ive seen her almost everyday since then. And a day hasn't passed when I haven't at least heard her voice.
I told her I missed her. And that was/is the truth.

I wish I could see into your mind. I wish I could read minds. It would make life a whole lot more simple. But since I cant, I guess I'm just going to have to make do with this. This being my Public Service Announcement.

4:11 am

Chapter One: Without a Spark

I believe in many things. In things like truth and faith and justice. I believe in God. And in his son. And that everything good in this life begins and ends with him.
I also believe in the devil. In selfishness and greed. In devious planning and malicious deeds. In getting whatever you want...by any means necessary.
I believe in many things...but I do not believe in love. Love is a lie. An illusion. A crutch for the weak and readers of poorly written romance novels. and the sooner the world realized this, the better.

***

Victor closed his eyes. 
Shut out the world and maybe something will come to you, he told himself. 
Breathe in. breathe out. Inhale. Exhale. Shake out your fingers, shake out the jitters and try again.
After cracking his knuckles, Victor opened his eyes. Nothing had changed. The three same paragraphs stared up at him from his spiral bound note book. Caroline could never understand why he never used his laptop when he wrote. She was endlessly pointing out to him how wasn't it double the work, that? Writing it by hand then transferring it to the laptop that she had bought for him exclusively for his writing. And it would have made at least some kind of sense if he at least sent off the hand written pages to be typed up by some pale faced, limp haired transcriber but no, Vic, as he was known as by his friends, insisted on typing them up himself. It helped him to edit, he claimed.
“But isn't that your editors job?” Caroline had asked him once.
“Sure it is.” had been Victor's answer, “but what's wrong with trying to make Tracey's job a little easier?”
Caroline had scoffed at that. She never did like Tracey. She was pretty, intelligent, successful and had a whole lot more in common with Victor than Caroline did. Spelled out, she was a little jealous. And despite Victor's constant reassurances, Caroline kept constant tabs on him whenever she knew he was with Tracey “working”.
Three damn paragraphs. That was all Victor had been able to write. And he wasn't even sure if they were even good paragraphs. Two years since his last book and he only had three paragraphs.
Victor let out a sigh. And the worst part was, as any writer knows, you cant force these things. When the spark isn't there, the spark just isn't there.
Then you better find that spark, Victor told himself.
Victor scoffed.
You say that like you don't think Ive been looking.
But two years Vic? Like seriously?
Get off it, he told himself. I'll find it, just give me a little time.
A little time man? Ive given you two friggin' years. And what have you done with it? Written three lousy paragraphs.
Victor let out another sigh. Ran a hand over his recently shaved head. The thin carpet of hair on his head a constant reminder of what he had lost. It had taken him the two years since his last book to grow out his hair. He had made a deal with himself that he would cut it off until he had completed his next one. But then Caroline had pointed out something.
“What if,” she had started as she had played with his hair, “It's your hair thats the problem? Stopping the words from coming. Don't get me wrong, I love your hair baby. I'm just saying, what if?” it sounded ludicrous, of course but at that point, Victor had been desperate. And so off had come the locks. That had been a month ago. And now...still nothing.
Victor was at the end of his tether and at the end of his tether he had done the one thing all writer's know not to do; he had tried to force it. The result? Three lousy paragraphs.
In a sudden fit of emotion Victor grabbed his pen and using it like a knife slashed at his spiral bound note book. Once the page was nothing more than a few shreds of paper he sent the note book spiraling across the room, where it hit the wall and landed in a heap on the floor.
“Honey?”
There is the rustling of sheets, a creak as Caroline sits up in bed.
“Is everything ok?”
“Fine.” Victor says rubbing his head, “Everything is fine.”
More creaks.
“What time is it?”
There is a sudden wash of light as Caroline leans over and turns on the lamp on her side of the bed.
“Late. Turn off the light and go back to sleep.”
After a moment.
“Are you sure you're ok?”
Victor lets out an exasperated sigh.
“Just go back to sleep ok?”
One moment. Two moments. Three moments, four. A sigh.
“Okay. Come back to bed soon. I miss you.”
Caroline stared at the back of Victor's head for a moment then laid back down.
Click. She turned off her lamp, enveloping her side of the room in darkness, leaving only the small radius around Victor's desk illuminated.
Victor waited about five minutes before getting up. Caroline was a fast sleeper. He knew that's all it would take. Making as little noise as possible he went over to where he had thrown the note book and bent over to pick it up. Note book in hand, Victor walked back to his desk. Sat down. Laid the book down in front of him, turning to a fresh page.
Picking up his pen, he breathed in, breathed out and started again.

Dormitan's Nightmare: Prologue

He dreamed of flashing lights. Of story book days and legendary nights. He dreamed of fame, oh of glorious fame. And of power...and of respect.
He dreamed of dinner parties at the finest restaurants, of million dollar deals and toasts with 100 year old wine.
He dreamed of the prestige; of awestruck glances, of hands offered in reverence.
“Welcome, Mr. Dormitan” they would say.
“It's an honor, Mr. Dormitan.” they would say.
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Dormitan.” they would say.
With hands behind his head, insomnia stricken he would dream. Warming his bed, filling his head, he would dream. Never letting up, never letting go long enough to wake up, or for that matter, to fall asleep...

How To Survive a Mud Slide: The Weekend Round Up

And so ends another weekend...not the most exciting Ive had but it had its well...not quite perks, but it had its moments. Drenched hoodie and squishy shoes (I'm sooo dreading having to clean those sons of bitches...I need to get myself a washing machine!), red bull and boxed vodka (or was it whiskey? Not quite sure, not that it matters, it still got the job done in record time), various cameos from Kigowa's Finest (whatever happened to us guys? We used to have that “solidah”, now we're so splintered its like we never were. I guess that's what happens when people grow up, move on and move out), food court chillin after midnight at Oasis while all the other night time lemmings milled about on the ground floor looking like a bunch of brainless ninnies (and yes I did say ninnies, you'll have to forgive me if I sound a little, well, superiotic. Not a real word mind you, juss made it up; root word superior. Thats juss how I am. superiotic that is.) hitting the dance floor at efendy's to “drop it like its hot” (I still haven't gotten the hand of doing the cryp walk yet), people still asking me why I cut off the dreads( get off it already, they're gone, they'll grow back, lets leave it at that), and the lemon mering cream on the pie; fifteen annoying minutes at Iguana with still Banging Body Barbara and I'm Too Cute For You Latta...I mean like seriously? What do you even call that? I had never walked out on a girl before but that was friggin ridiculous. And if you want the full story you'll juss have to inbox me or something because theres no friggin way I'm gonna waste space by telling you about it here.
All in all though, I give it a 7/10. It was a great distraction. I had fun.
But tomorrow's Monday and you all know what that means...back to work. * sigh * three...two...one...and here we go.

Stick a Fork in Me, Because I'm Done (I Really Have No Idea What to Call This)

It always comes back. 


It's always her. 


No matter what happens. No matter what I do. 


Two  weeks, two months, two years; 


it doesn't make a difference...she's there. 


Always beneath the surface,


 waiting...waiting...

One taste is all it takes, toxic is toxic. 


Vials in boxes, boxes in closets. 


Pad lock it, mock it but


 it doesn't make a difference...she's here. Where? 


Here. Always beneath the surface, 


Waiting...waiting...

12:34 am

Its simple really. There's really nothing to it. All you have to do is pick up the phone and call. No, not now you twit. Tomorrow, when its appropriate. Midnight phone calls simply for the sake of saying hi only work with girlfriends and girls who you're trying to fuck and the fact is, right now, you just don't know her like that bruh...
Uh-huh, well, thank you for the input...bruh. And thank you for reminding me. Not that I needed reminding. I'm fully aware of the situation as it stands at the moment thank you very much. I'm just trying to figure just how to go about handling it, thats all. Because although ignoring it has worked for quite some time now, I have the feeling that that luxury is about to come to an end...

Kiss me. 

I don't care if there's no music playing, 

slow dance with me.

I don't care if there are people watching,

let me put my arms around your waist,

let me hold you closer...

P.S.

Ive missed you
, 

Ive missed everything about you,

please don't deny me this chance...

1:52 am

I intend to one page this. Meaning that I only have a few lines to spill this. Not that I have much to spill. Or maybe I have too much too spill. So much so that I find trying to cram it into this limited space one notch below futile thus not worth the effort. In plain English please. In plain English? I ain't gonna say shit so you might as well stop reading now. I'm on that facebook shit, replying wall posts, inboxes, status and note comments and all that other good stuff. I will leave you with one thing though. Even if it is only a reiteration. I miss her. Always have. Staying distracted has been a good way of not having to face that. Not anymore though. And you know what that means, right? Drama-tox is almost over folks. Its been fun but God knows I'll be so much more happy with a lil drama tossed in...so get ready, because here I come!